[GRIM REAPERS V AND GLORY II IMAGES]
. . .
On September 6th, after having some alone time alongside Olsen in New York, Lin Yi left for the Bahamas to join the Knicks' overseas training camp.
That same month, the NBA officially announced a series of rule changes for the upcoming season.
First, All-Star Game voting would no longer separate players by position—specifically, the center spot was removed. Second, active rosters would expand from 12 players to 13.
The All-Star change was more a concession than a revolution. The decline of traditional centers was no longer up for debate. In the small-ball era, true five-man teams had become scarce.
The roster expansion, however, was a far more practical adjustment—and one that coaches loved.
Gregg Popovich was one of the first to publicly praise it.
While teams would still dress only 12 players per game, the extra roster spot allowed more flexibility across a long season. For teams with depth and tactical creativity, it was a gift.
That made it particularly good news for the Knicks.
D'Antoni had become borderline obsessed with rotations, and this rule gave him even more room to experiment. With a deep bench, New York could now tweak lineups based on matchups rather than necessity.
Soon after, the Knicks finalized their roster. Following McGrady's return on a veteran minimum, the full 15-man list for the new season was released:
Centers: Tyson Chandler, Yao Ming, Draymond Green
Power Forwards: Marcus Morris, Donatas Motiejūnas, Shane Battier
Small Forwards: Lin Yi, Wilson Chandler, Markieff Morris
Shooting Guards: Danny Green, Klay Thompson, Tony Allen
Point Guards: Chris Paul, Shaun Livingston, Tracy McGrady
Looking at the roster, Lin Yi felt a quiet confidence settle in. This was a serious one.
Before camp even began, he planned to speak with D'Antoni about using Draymond Green as a hybrid forward-center. Draymond had worked hard on his three-point shot over the summer, but on the first day in the Bahamas, Lin Yi pulled him aside.
"Listen," Lin Yi said calmly, "if you're wide open, take it. If not, stay inside. I need you crashing the glass and anchoring the defense, not forcing shots."
Green nodded immediately.
Offensive rebounding came with risks—one wrong read, and it turned into an easy board for the opponent. Lin Yi wasn't willing to trade discipline for hype.
During joint practice, Lin Yi also noticed something else: when Green got emotional, his play edged toward reckless. He held back against teammates, but in real games, that edge could easily spark unnecessary conflict.
Lin Yi stopped him after a scrimmage.
"Draymond," he said, voice steady but firm, "I trust you. Don't make me regret that. If you cross the line out there, you'll be sitting. No discussion."
This wasn't moral preaching. In Lin Yi's eyes, toughness and dirtiness were not the same thing. The Knicks' defense back in the 2010–11 winning season had been brutal—but it was respected. That was the standard.
This lineup didn't need cheap shots to be elite.
Lin Yi understood better than anyone how quickly dirty plays could turn a team into a league-wide target. The Knicks already had rivals. Becoming public enemy number one would only make the title run harder—and diminish whatever they achieved.
This was also a warning of another kind. Green talked a lot, and careless words could fracture a locker room just as easily as reckless fouls.
Lin Yi wanted Draymond Green, the competitor—not the walking headline.
Green, for his part, didn't dare push back. He nodded repeatedly, pulled out a small notebook, and actually wrote something down.
In New York, no matter how much fire you had, you learned control. And really didn't want to piss off one of the emerging cornerstones of the New York sporting scene.
From the first day of camp, he made that clear.
After training wrapped up, Lin Yi gathered the team.
"On media day," he said, "I'm saying it out loud—we're here to win it all. No hedging, no excuses. This season, there's no backing away."
Yao Ming, Battier, and McGrady exchanged looks and nodded. The former Rockets knew better than anyone how little time they had left. Battier already had a ring, but no one ever felt satisfied with just one.
Paul, Livingston, and Markieff Morris—each coming off injury—were hungry to prove they still mattered.
Danny Green, Wilson Chandler, Klay, and Tony were firmly in Lin Yi's corner. The new faces—Marcus Morris, rookie Draymond Green, and second-year Motiejūnas—were eager to carve out their place.
A championship wasn't built on one star or two leaders. It took everyone pulling in the same direction.
The road ahead was brutal—but the Knicks were ready to fight through it.
By the end of the Bahamas camp, the team's energy was sharp and focused.
Before the season officially began, Lin Yi and Paul slipped away for one last indulgence.
Fried chicken.
They ordered far too much and ate without restraint. Halfway through, Paul laughed and raised a hand.
"That's it," he said. "Once the season starts, the words 'fried chicken' don't exist."
Lin Yi smirked. "Deal. Say it, and you owe me a thousand."
Paul grinned. "Same goes for you."
. . .
During the training camp, Lin Yi wasn't just putting on weight—he was seriously refining his post-up game.
His arms were noticeably sturdier now, even thicker than Tyson Chandler's. Part of that, of course, had to do with Chandler deliberately slimming down over the summer. Starting from the 2012–13 season, Chandler had committed to gradual weight loss to extend his career.
While Lin Yi worked on his back-to-the-basket moves, Yao Ming stood nearby, offering constant pointers. Chandler managed to dodge the first day of punishment, but by the fifteenth, there was no escape.
That was when his rough stretch truly began—and this time it was worse. Lin Yi was going at him directly, body to body. Anyone who had played in the post knew how brutal that kind of one-on-one could be. It drained everything.
Eventually, Chandler's lower back tapped out.
Yao Ming stepped in as the next sparring partner.
It quickly became obvious just how stable Yao's base still was. Even though Lin Yi's weight wasn't far off Yao's post-slim-down figure, moving him was a different story altogether.
Yao laughed, clearly enjoying himself.
"Come on," he said. "I went toe-to-toe with Shaq for years. You think I'm easy to move, even out of my prime? Try harder."
Afterward, Yao gave Lin Yi some honest feedback. His force application still needed refining. To preserve explosiveness and flexibility, Lin Yi's lower body was leaner than Yao's had been, and that naturally affected leverage.
"But that's fine," Yao added. "You don't need to move me. I'm on your side."
Looking around the league, as more and more big men slimmed down, Lin Yi realized something else—he had very few natural rivals left in the paint.
What made it even worse for opponents was that he wasn't just posting up centers anymore.
He was backing down wings.
Realistically, how many wing players in the league were going to bulk up to 120 kilograms just to survive against him?
You'd have to be out of your mind.
Elsewhere in camp, Tony Allen had basically finished passing on everything he knew to Danny Green and Klay. As he put it, they still weren't defenders on his level—but they were more than ready to stand on their own.
Livingston's mid-range jumper was growing steadier by the day, almost identical to the version Lin Yi remembered from Golden State. The Morris brothers showed impressive athleticism, and even though McGrady and Battier were clearly past their physical peaks, their experience was invaluable to the younger players.
Lin Yi summed it up casually one day.
"Chris," he said, grinning, "honestly, you could just lie back and enjoy this."
Paul's response was immediate—he rattled off a flurry of mock jabs toward Lin Yi's abs.
"Cut it out," Paul said, then extended a fist. "This season? Let's go take it. I will get to the Promised Land even if I have to lose my legs."
Lin Yi laughed. Under the fading Bahamian sunset, he bumped fists with him.
"Yeah," he said teasingly. "Don't worry. If that happens, I will carry your sorry ass to a championship."
. . .
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